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Duvette spent several more hours in his cabin. Now that he understood what Juno had planned for him, sleep was finished as an option.
He kept his gaze on the figure suspended in the corner of his vision.
[Emperor's Wrath: 500]
The reward from Farrak IV's final engagent. Five hundred points, and right now that was the only resource he had to work with. Every one of them needed to count — to keep himself and his soldiers alive for as long as possible inside a space hulk.
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
The worst thing about a space hulk was not any particular enemy. It was the environnt itself: collapsed corridors, failed gravity, radiation leaks, toxic atmospheres, and whatever moved through the dark without announcing itself. The threat was everywhere and it had no fixed shape.
So. What did they need?
Reconnaissance instinct — so ans of knowing where the threat was coming from before it arrived. And psychological resilience — the kind that kept soldiers functional in conditions designed to break an ordinary mind.
Having decided on the general direction, Duvette did not imdiately select specific skills. Instead he stood, left the cabin, and made his way to the ship's lower decks.
The lift brought him down. When the doors opened, a wall of warm air hit him, dense with sweat and the sll of engine oil.
He walked into the Ash Watchers 101st's billeting area. Most of the soldiers were already awake, gathered in groups of two and three, working through the ship's issued ration blocks and a broth of uncertain origin. The broth was a cloudy grey-green with a few beads of fat floating on the surface.
The soldiers saw him and set down their food, getting to their feet. Salutes ca in a clean wave. Respectful eyes followed. This man had led them out of sothing that should have killed them. That was a fact no decoration could improve on.
Duvette acknowledged them with a nod and kept walking.
Further back, he spotted a slight figure at one of the ss tables, working steadily through a ration block and the grey broth. Beside him, Lena sat with the sa quiet focus, eating the tasteless food without complaint.
Evan seed to register Duvette's attention. He looked up, and the mont he found the commissar's face his eyes lit imdiately. He wiped his mouth and ca to his feet, crossing over quickly.
"Sir. Are there new orders?"
Duvette looked at the boy's expression — gratitude, plainly worn, not bothering to hide itself — and shook his head. "Not yet. Did the Inquisitor do anything to either of you?"
Evan shook his head.
Duvette put a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Rest. I'll need you later."
"Yes, sir." Evan gave a short salute and went back to his food.
Duvette had taken two steps onward when noise reached him from further down the billets.
"Stroud, you useless bald swindler, you're at it again!"
"Get your face out of mine. I was playing cards before your father knew what they were. Pay up."
"You rotten cheating bastard!"
"What?! Can't take a loss without throwing a fight? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Duvette followed the sound.
Stroud Hamr sat at a folding table with a grubby deck of cards in hand, the expression on his face a self-satisfied study in contentnt. Across the table, two soldiers stood with color in their cheeks and their hands balled tight, working themselves toward sothing regrettable.
Duvette let himself smile.
Stroud had recovered well since leaving the dicae. Entirely typical of the man — nothing settled on him long enough to leave a mark. He would not be sitting sowhere tornting himself about missing the final underground battle the way Anderson would. In a certain sense, that particular quality was a genuine asset in a soldier.
Duvette walked over and coughed twice, with so emphasis.
The arguing stopped. All three soldiers ca to attention and offered their salutes.
"Commissar."
Duvette looked at each of them in turn. "Cards are fine. Keep your hands to yourselves."
"Yes, sir!"
He said nothing further, turned, and continued deeper into the ship. The area ahead was noticeably cleaner, the air sharper and colder. A stenciled panel on the bulkhead confird: dical Bay.
He ran through the decontamination procedure at the entry point and pushed through the airtight door.
Inside, the air was cold and clean, carrying the sll of antiseptic. A row of beds ran the length of the room. Most were empty. Four were occupied.
His gaze went directly to the bed in the far corner.
Finn Valentine lay there without moving, a white sheet drawn to his chest. A ventilator tube ran into his nose, his chest rising and falling in the machine's asured rhythm. White bandaging covered both his eyes. The stump of his severed right arm was enclosed in a layer of heavy, transparent dical gel.
Doctor Wayne had explained that the gel was designed to accelerate nerve and muscle tissue regeneration. Once the wound had sufficiently stabilized, a Magos Biologis of the chanicus could be commissioned to fit a prosthetic. The sa treatnt was running on the eyes.
But that was not what Duvette was looking at.
Floating above Finn's head in his field of vision, a line of semi-transparent text had appeared.
[Potential Elite: Zealot]
[Faith Branch]
[Fear is a betrayal of the God-Emperor. Our blood will be the fla that burns the heretic to ash.]
[Starting skill: Martyr's Eye]
[Automatically triggers under conditions of blindness, dismbernt, near-fatal injury, and similar extremity. Forcibly strips away all pain sensation and physiological limitation. Shooting accuracy no longer depends on physical sight — determined instead by the instinct of the soul.]
Duvette stood there for a long ti and read it.
So that was why.
That was how Finn had put four shots into four psykers while blind and one-ard. The instinct of the soul.
He turned the phrase over once, quietly, inside himself.
Then he made his decision.
He brought up the System interface, selected Finn Valentine, and confird the expenditure: 100 Emperor's Wrath.
[Forge a soul-bind with "Finn Valentine"?]
Yes.
One hundred Emperor's Wrath deducted.
A mont later, he felt sothing. A connection — faint, the kind that could be missed if you were not expecting it, a thread extending from his awareness across the room to the unconscious man on the bed.
The bind was complete.
Duvette stepped to the bedside and looked down at Finn's face. It was at rest. No pain showed, no distress. He looked like a man who had simply gone to sleep and would wake when he was ready.
Duvette hoped he would be ready soon. He had Juno's authorization ring, and the Siren's Fury would have a chanicus Magos Biologis aboard who could arrange the prosthetics. Getting Finn back to fighting condition before they reached the space hulk would improve their chances by a margin worth having.
He did not stay long. He checked on the other wounded, then left.
He made his way to the regint's training deck, found an unoccupied corner of the space, and sat with his back against the hull plating. At the far end of the deck, the 101st's soldiers were running their morning conditioning drills and tactical exercises, their movents filling the space with the steady controlled noise of a regint maintaining itself.
He watched for a while. Then he closed his eyes and called up the skill tree. The decisions had already been made.
[War Doctrine]
[Threat Sense (Beginner)]
[Grants legion mbers danger perception within a certain radius of themselves. Moderately increases the acuity of all five senses in complex and confined terrain.]
[Cost: 200 Emperor's Wrath]
He confird the purchase. In the dark corridors of a space hulk, any warning of a threat before it arrived could an the difference between a controlled response and a massacre.
Then the second selection. Not a new skill — an upgrade.
[Iron Discipline]
[Steel Ring (Interdiate)]
[The sanity and morale of all soldiers under your command receive a substantial increase.]
[Steel within and without!]
[Cost: 200 Emperor's Wrath]
Confird.
Everything was now in place. It was ti to put the full picture in front of the 101st and let every soldier in the regint know exactly what was coming.
****
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